The instant he caught sight of her stricken face, he mistook the reason behind it and whispered, “God, I’m sorry. That was . . . I shouldn’t have touched you.”
“I’m lame,” she declared.
He stared at her, obviously thrown.
“You’re—?” he started.
“Lame,” she said decisively.
He shifted to face her fully, stating deliberately, “You’re not lame.”
She looked into his eyes, lifted her chin, Maurelle held her breath and heard Nissa pull in hers and she and her friend watched the woman walk a small, ungainly circle before coming again to stand still in front of the man.
He’d watched.
And he’d seen.
And now a muscle was jumping up his cheek.
With her chin still up, but her hands in fists, she repeated, “Like I said, I’m lame.”
“You’re not lame,” he growled.
Her eyes got big.
Maurelle nearly let out a fairy burst of twinkle dust for joy.
“Oh my,” Nissa breathed.
“What happened?” he asked low.
“A . . . a . . . car wreck. When I was fourteen,” she answered.
“How old are you now?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Christ,” he bit off. “You still have pain?”
“Oh dear,” Nissa mumbled.
She could say that again.
It was rather known in fairy circles that some men had difficulty taking on issues, like chronic pain due to a car accident, especially at the very beginning.
It was rather known in fairy circles that some women had that same hesitation.
Maurelle had a feeling this particular woman knew this all too well.
And this was one of the reasons most fairies (read: nearly all but the most adept or experienced) steered clear of this kind of matchmaking just because (but also at the strict decree of the Elders, a major reason why Maurelle was always getting into trouble, because she didn’t steer clear, as was currently apparent).
Maurelle was holding her breath again.
“Sometimes,” the woman said.
“Shit,” the man muttered. “You in pain tonight?”
“Not my leg,” she told him.
“So it’s not dancing or something that made you come out here?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“You shouldn’t call yourself lame,” he told her.
“That’s what my mom says,” she told him.
“Your mom is right,” he returned.
“And my dad,” she went on.
“He’s right too.”
“And all my friends,” she kept at it.
He made no reply, just scowled down at her.
Really, he was just . . . everything.
“But . . . I am lame,” she pointed out.
“You got a bum leg as a result of a car wreck. That makes you a woman with a bum leg. Not lame,” he retorted.
Maurelle let out her breath in a gust.
She just knew it.
That man. Spice Girls. With his sister.
Yes.
She knew it.
Maurelle grinned.
“A pretty woman with a bum leg,” he amended.
Maurelle’s grin grew into a smile.
“A pretty woman with great hair and a bum leg,” he added.
Maurelle let out a fairy burst of twinkle dust for joy.
Nissa immediately swung out an invisibility web to shroud it.
A new blush had crept up the woman’s cheeks, and she was opening and closing her mouth, but no words were coming out.
“Not to make myself seem less of a concerned citizen, but if you weren’t as pretty as you are and you didn’t have that head of hair, I might have asked if you were okay but I wouldn’t have pushed the beer,” he explained.
“Oh,” she whispered.
“But just to make things clear, at this point, I’m still pushing the beer,” he went on.
“Oh,” she breathed.
Maurelle giggled.
“And just to say, I don’t give that first shit about a bum leg,” he finished.
“Oh,” she mumbled, looking nervous, cautiously happy, but still troubled.
“So, can we get a beer and find somewhere to sit so I can make sure you’re all right before I ask you out on a date, this being after I ask your name, which I’ll do while we’re waiting in line for a beer?” he requested.
“I . . . you should know, I saw you in there with a girl,” she admitted. “You’re hard to miss, being tall and all,” she quickly added.
He certainly was tall.
And all.
Maurelle giggled again.
“Yeah, you were hard to miss in there too,” he returned.
“Nice,” Nissa whispered.
“Not because you’re tall,” he carried on. “Because of other things.”
“Nice,” Maurelle whispered.
“Though I didn’t see you walking,” he went on. “But even if I did, it wouldn’t have mattered, like it doesn’t now.”
“Niiiiiice,” Maurelle and Nissa drawled in unison.
He continued, “And that girl is my sister. She grew up on the Spice Girls. Tickets were my birthday present for her. She was supposed to bring a friend. She wanted me to come with her instead, mostly because she’s my baby sister and it’s her job to torture me, but partly because she kinda likes spending time with me. I didn’t grow up on the Spice Girls, except having to endure it when she blasted it. I grew up on Green Day.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “But she’s my sister. I love her. She wanted me with her. What was I supposed to do?”
“Take her to see the Spice Girls,” she replied.
He grinned. “Yeah.”
Maurelle and Nissa watched as the woman took her time taking in his attractive grin before she pulled in a visibly large breath.
She let it out saying, “I . . . think I’d like a beer.”
Maurelle fought another fairy dust burst of joy.
His smile widened. “Good.”
“So, um . . . what’s your name?” she asked, and he shook his head, but he did it reaching out to wrap his fingers around hers again.
“Oh no,” he began. “We don’t want to jump ahead. That’s for our wait in line.”
It was then, eyes sparkling once more, head tipped back, the nerves were gone as was the concern, and so was the cautious in her happy.
He drew her closer then he drew her toward the end of the line at the concession stand.
And Maurelle and Nissa blipped out of the arena smack dab into the front of a Gathering.
Oh boy.
Maurelle looked over her shoulder.
A lot of fairies had been called to order.
Oh boy.
“Maurelle,” Aelfric, Elder of the Elders, the head honcho, the big cheese, the one who was sitting on the biggest throne made of twisting branches and twigs with leaves growing from them, plus flowers, with the occasional spread of attractive moss, droned loudly.
“It worked out!” Maurelle exclaimed in her defense.
“It could have been a disaster,” Suzette, the Elder Crone sitting at Aelfric’s side, snapped.
“It wasn’t,” Maurelle pointed out.
“And what would become of that young woman if he’d watched her make her circle and then shut down?” Aelfric asked.
“She survived a car crash. She’s out with a friend at a Spice Girls concert,” Maurelle retorted. “She’d pick herself up and get on with it.”
“You can’t know that,” Orla, the Noble Elder, said softly.